"No; I want the pleasure of carrying you," was the light response, and for answer a soft little hand stroked his own.
Miss Lucy met them at the door of the ward, and her face was white with fear.
"She was tired and a little faint," the Doctor explained. "I thought I'd better bring her up."
"Don't worry—Miss Lucy!" smiled Polly. "I'm—all right." She sighed softly, as her head touched the pillow.
"Precious child!" murmured the nurse, and then followed the Doctor to the door.
"Has she been singing all this time?" Reproach was in the gentle tone.
He bowed. "I know! It was too severe a strain. But she did n't seem very tired until just at the last—and it has probably saved the boy's life."
"That is good—if it has n't hurt her," Miss Lucy added anxiously.
"I think not," he replied. "She seems to be all right now. She will probably sleep late from exhaustion. Do you suppose you can keep the children quiet?"
"Quiet! Bless them! They won't stir, if they know it is going to disturb Polly!"